So yesterday, I did a thing. I’m not going to say what, just yet, because it’s not official. Let’s just say it’s a thing most people do at a certain point in their life. If they are lucky enough to get that certain point in their life.
As long-time readers know, since my father passed, I’ve been my mother’s caregiver. As the years passed, it became more and more difficult to manage her care and well-being with a demanding full-time job. In December, following a few frightening incidents, we moved her to Assisted Living. After a rocky adjustment period, she begrudgingly settled in. Then Covid happened. Today I saw her for the third time since March 12. She’s much frailer and in dreadful need of a haircut. She asked who was the man I brought with me and were we living together. (LOL – “The man” was my husband, and yes, we’re living together.)
This enforced isolation of seniors in facilities is doing more harm to those with dementia than anyone realizes. A friend jokingly called it, “Pandemic Prison.” It’s not a joke. Dementia patients need interaction. They need mental stimulation. They need touch. They need their families, who are agonizing in insolation themselves over what is happening to their loved ones.
You’ll be hearing more about this, and other things, in the days ahead. I’m dusting off the soapbox. I’m mad. And somebody’s gonna hear about it.
Obi's Sister 
Ust-Kan said,
August 14, 2020 at 12:24 am
Certainly times of change and many are enforced, changes we have no control over, although I feel we are being misled on many, sometimes it’s as if outsider looking in, often memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks. World wide families are being denied the last moments together
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